


setting fire to paper

by zeldaring



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst and Humor, Coming of Age, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:44:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10229363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldaring/pseuds/zeldaring
Summary: If you were to ask Oikawa what the single most dangerous, irresponsible and damn out reckless thing he’d ever done at Hogwarts was—regardless of Quiddich, dragons, befriending Bokuto and Kuroo, creating exploding potions and back chatting Professor McGonagall—he’d put falling in love with his childhood friend at number one. Easily.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i warn you now, this is the long hall. This is like, from before hogwarts to seventh year and it's slow burn. So I kind of have too take a few stabs in the dark with muggle wizard laws because jk was so like, hazy with so much of this universe. 
> 
> oh well. 
> 
> btw in this 'Iwa' is replacing 'Iwa-chan' because I confuse myself about heritage in this, and because all the characters in this are born and raised in england (or not specified) i thought it'd make more sense to just going with something more neutral? I mean all characters are still japanese but again they're in england. so? idk if you guys disagree lemme know and i'll change it back to iwa-chan, I'm chill my dudes.

When Tooru was very young, he’d had a Nanny. 

He remembered her well, with long silver hair that pooled at her shoulders and sweeping robes made from smooth shining fabric. She looked like the night sky, he had thought, the beautiful shine of pearly villus like streams of moonlight, conversed against the inky gleam of her midnight gowns. She wasn’t very pretty to look at, old and ordinary with a wrinkled face and ageing hands, a shaky voice a little raspy from years of use. But Tooru had adored her, and to him she encompassed everything what he believed magic was. 

She spoke about a world so different to the one he belong to, a world riddled with witchcraft that sparkled and glittered in midair, where candles hovered off the ground— one bursting with the colours of crackling fires and warmth, spilling with creatures beyond his imagination. He’d sit, cross legged in a lagoon of sheets on his king-sized bed, wide eyed and so young as he desperatly waited to be apart of the world she spoke so fondly about. 

He would think back to his own experience with the magic world, and wonder why his version was so different. To him, magic was battered and snarling house elves, draped in rags who looked at him like he was a monster. It was self-sweeping brooms that would barge him out of the way, and old dusty book which held nothing but complicated english that was beyond any six-year-old. It was massive old houses and weird smelling relatives, who wore boring heavy wool robes that stayed black— no matter what kind of light cached them. He supposed, when he’d turned seven, and his parents told him to start to think realistically, that this was what real magic was. Slowly, Tooru began to learn the begrudging truth that real magic was dusty old books and dusty old people. That people like his Nanny simply didn’t belong in the real magic world. 

One Sunday evening, when his Nanny had sat down to try and tutor him basic maths, she had made an announcement. 

“At the end of the month, I shall be leaving,” she’d stated, and then turned back to reciting Tooru basic times tables. Tooru’s quill clattered against it’s parchment, blotching his work with ink, as he shamelessly gaped at her.

“Don’t do that with your mouth, Tooru, you’ll catch flies.” She’d snapped, and then stretched out a tentative and shaky hand to carefully close Tooru’s mouth shut. But he’d still stared, eyes brimming with threatening tears, whining out a series of “why, why why Nanny?”  

She’d smiled at him, with her thin, pale lips pulling across her face and puckering with a faint pink. 

“Because your parents want you to start learning magic, my dear, and I cannot teach you that.” 

Tooru frowned, sinking back into his velvet cushion. He gnawed at his bottom lip, before again crying out “but you’ve already taught me so much about magic!” He reaches over the desk, knocking his ink pot clean over in a desperate attempt to clasp his small hands around his Nanny’s robes. 

“You must stay, you must, you must!” He continued to wail, desperately trying to scramble into the ladies lap as she barked at him to stop making such a mess. After a few more moments of chaos Tooru had successfully climbed into her lap, snuggling into the familiar sent of fading lavender and fresh rose. He cried freely then, a snotty nosed seven year old who wanted to hold onto the scrap of magic he had truly believed in. 

If his Nanny left, she would take all her wonderful stories with her— all the incredible concepts that had filled Tooru’s head with hope and colour. He didn’t want to let her go, and he certainly didn’t want to be left starved of touch and of homy comfort, practically alone in a gloomy old castle. His parents, so inattentive, could never make up for the women he tried to burry himself in.

She ran a hand through Tooru’s soft hair, and hummed comfortingly against the tip of his head. She rocked him a few minutes, letting him cry until potent hick ups began breaking through the ugly wails. 

“Now, now, Tooru, big boys don’t cry.”

“I’m not a big boy!” Tooru protested miserably, wiping his nose against the gleaming fabric. His Nanny had only rolled her eyes and pulled him closer. 

“You must be, my dear, if your parents want to get you a tutor who can teach you magic. Only big boys learn about magic.”

“Why can’t you teach me? I don’t want a new Nanny!” Tooru demanded. 

“You’re not getting a new Nanny—you’re too old for a Nanny—you’re getting a tutor. Who can teach you about charms and spells, about how some people can turn into cats and back into people, about the power of the moon and about horses with beautiful, angel like wings. I can’t do that for you, Tooru.”

“You still haven’t told me why!” His Nanny looked down at him, the bundle of pajyamas and tossled brown hair, with a raised eyebrow. 

“My my, Tooru, so tentative. But it’s true, I cannot teach you. And that is because I cannot use magic.” This grabbed Tooru’s attention, who sprang into a sitting position with his head popping up from the skies of fabric. 

“You can’t? But I thought everyone could?” 

“Some of us, I’m afraid, just aren’t lucky enough or special enough to be able to learn magic.” she pulled the small boy close, and nuzzled him into her arms, “but you are, Tooru, you’re a very special boy”.

 

A week later, Tooru’s Nanny had been reluctantly ripped from his grip, and sent away. She left with about two suit cases and a faint smile, petting Tooru on the head and nodding a fairwell to his parents. His life suddenly felt a lot emptier, and a lot less magical, without his Nanny. He roamed aimlessly along large stone halls, with his jumper pulled close to fight the chill. He only could find one jumper, though, since now he didn’t know where his clothes were and the house elves wouldn’t tell him. They didn’t see him as a master, and therefore they had no obligation to tell him where his Nanny would get his clothes from. 

“Why did Nanny have to leave?” Tooru had mumbled on a rainy day, pushing a handful of marbles around aimlessly on the floor of his mothers’ office. She sat on a grand, mahogany desk twice the size of Tooru. She didn’t even look up. 

“Because she can’t teach you magic.” Tooru tried his very best not to sigh, and rolled onto his back dramatically. 

“I know, but why not?”

“Because she was squib.” His mother stated simply, dipping her pen back into the ink pot. 

“Oh.” Was all Tooru said, and the room was filled with silence. The only sound was pen scraping parchment, until Tooru queried further “what’s a squib?”

“Someone who is born into a magic family, but aren’t magic themselves. Pitiful creatures.”

“So there are families out there who aren’t magic?” Tooru’s mother scrunched her nose up, forehead wrinkled and finally glancing down at her son. Tooru stared wide eyed watching, not missing a fraction of his mother’s expression— hardened with distaste. 

“Millions,” she mutters bitterly, and then continued her work. 

 

Tooru grew up a lot that winter. He had a new Nanny— no, tutor, who taught him the basics of magic. He wasn’t really allowed to perform any, and the new adult who practically held custody over him was much sterner than his lovely Nanny. He learnt about charms and astronomy, and reluctantly wrote out his letters till his hand writing was neater. He grew border, that was for sure, and soon as the tumbling heat of summer rolled around his Nanny was practically a distant memory. 

Until suddenly, she wasn’t. 

It was June and his tutor had returned home, to Romania apparently, to spend the summer with his family. Before leaving, his tutor had murmured some positive words about Tooru and his progress with his studies to his parents, leaving the castles atmosphere a little less tense than before. Tooru wasn’t sure what this meant, until he was one day summoned from his tower room by a grumpy looking house elf, saying that his parents had wanted too see him. 

Nervously, Tooru had trailed behind the little house elf into the grand dining room, where is parents had sat at an obscenly large table with expectant expressions. A breakfast stretched across the table with enough food to feed a party, and a place set out waiting for him. 

Tooru frowned as he lowered himself cautiously into the chair. Normally his parents would have left early in the morning for their very important ministry jobs (whatever a ministry was) and Tooru would normally have breakfast and lunch in the kitchen alone, maybe with his tutor if it had suited him. Now he sat eyeing the alarming amount of food, anxiety knotting his stomach. 

His father was the first to speak, who had little to say. The whole ordeal was a rather worthless build up, on reflection, as all his parents had to say was he’d not be spending summer with them at the mannor. His tutor had decided to take an extensive break until September, the technical start of term, and until his return Tooru would be spending his summer vacation in the country. 

“—In muggle country.” his father concluded, hesitantly. Tooru cocked his head, a little surprised by the announcement. 

Whenever his parents spoke about muggles (which Tooru had learnt was the slang for non-magic people) they never had spoken about them fondly. There was always a slight hostile twitch of their lips, or a shared glance that never meant anything good. So, he wasn’t sure why they were willingly sending him off to be amongst them. Unless they had sold him, or something, which was maybe a possibility—

“Muggles are nothing to be afraid of, Tooru.” his father stated suddenly, mistaking Tooru’s silence for fear. “they’re just…”

His father doesn’t finish, closing his mouth and humming low. He looks at his wife, almost desperately, who sighs and hurriedly finishes his sentence.

“They’re just a little insufferable. Their ignorance is practically ground breaking in itself.” Tooru furrows his eyebrows and looks down at his empty plate. He nods simply, and then cautiously reaches out for a fork full of bacon. He tries to feel a little bit guilty about the relief that settled over him, now that he knows he didn’t have to spend the summer with that gnawing sense of lonliness. 

***

Tooru wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a scowling boy, with sun kissed skin and a ball poised between his hands. 

After his parents ‘big announcement’, Tooru had practically scampered straight off to pack and was shipped off a couple of days later. There were a lot of firsts along the journey— the first time he’d been driven in a coach without his parents, his first time being in the muggle world amongst the hustles and bustle of muggle life— the first time he’d caught a train by himself, let alone a muggle train. Everything was grey and steel, and busy. The only person he had by him was the gardner (who had strangely offered to accomapny him), who wore an oversized coat, a massive floppy hat and sunglasses, which were used to try and conceal the large jagged scar that ran deeply across his face. (No one knew how he’d got the scar, and no one was allowed to ask). Noes also wore what Tooru thought was suppose to be a fake moustache.  

“Muggles never seen scars like this before, Master Tooru.” he’d grumbled as he positioned the glasses on his little head. Tooru nodded slowly, certain that they’d gotten more stares with the disguise than without it— even if muggles really hadn’t seen a scar quiet like that.

So when they’d arrived at a village train station, and trecked out to ‘Hazel Farm’, Tooru wasn’t sure what to expect. But the gruff looking boy with messy black hair, stuck up on ends with heat and sweat, was not that. 

He glared the two of them down for a few more moments, Tooru nervously fiddling with the handle of his suitcase, eyes wide open and mouth set in a stern line that seemed almost familiar. 

“Nan!” The boy suddenly yelled, not moving from his spot, “that Oikawa kid’s here.” He still didn’t move, standing guard at the farm cottages gate like some sort of guard dog. Despite feeling a little unnerved, Tooru still huffed and pouted a little. That Oikawa kid. 

Tooru was about to open his mouth and protest, that no, scary child, he was not just some ‘Oikawa kid’ when the door to the farm house flung open. 

A familiar face smiled at him, slowly making their way down the stone slates across the well cared grass, arms open. Wrapped around them was the familiar glittery, dark indigo robes, bouncy white hair just a little longer. 

Tooru cracked into a grin, dropping his case and running into his Nanny’s arms. He almost knocked the poor old lady over, who laughed pleasantly as Tooru nuzzled himself into her chest. 

“Nanny.” He breathed, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of familiarity and comfort he forgot he needed. Good academic progress and large breakfasts could never replace his Nanny. He inhaled her sent like he’d been starved of oxygen. 

Tooru let go and turned around excitedly, only to be met with the cold eyes of the other boy. He’d almost forgotten he was standing there, now a little closer next to Noes with his chubby lit arms crossed. He was trying to look intimidating, Tooru had guessed. 

“Hajime, this is Tooru.” His Nanny gestured over to the grumpy boy, gently pushing Tooru forward. “Hajime is my grandson.” Tooru’s eyes grew wide as he looked over at the boy— Hajime. He could see a few similar characteristics, same olive skin tone and same stormy grey eyes. Their lips finned and tilted the same, as well. 

“He lives with me.” She provided. Tooru huffed, tilting his head up and suddenly feeling a surge of jealousy. After all, this was his Nanny, not anyone else’s. 

“Hi.” Hajime says. 

“Hello.” Tooru echo’s, softly. 

“Why don’t you two go play for a while, dinners not going to be ready yet. Hajime, you could show Tooru to your room.” Hajime flicks an eyebrow up, and for one minute he thinks the boys going to say no. Then he shrugs his shoulder, not looking at Tooru, and goes to make a grab for Tooru’s case. 

“Hey, w-wait, I can take that!’” Tooru stutters hopelessly. The other boy swats him away with little trouble, being the same height but evidentially a lot less fragile as Tooru. He hoists the case up with two hands, and scowls again. 

“No, dumbass, you’ve been carrying it all day. If you keep carrying it your arms will turn to jelly.” 

“Hajime, language.” His Nanny scolds, although her voice is devoid with any real anger. 

“Thats not true!… Is it?” Tooru gulps slightly as Hajime shrugs, walking towards the house. 

“You wanna find out?” Tooru shakes his head nervously, and for the first time a small smile pulls at Hajime’s lips. He walks forward, calling over his shoulder a “come on, then.” 

Tooru scrambles after the other boy, and trails into the house with him. He hears his Nanny mutter something about tea to Noes, who probably would say no and get on his way. 

The inside of the house was interesting, over flowering with old nic-nacs and antiques, clean wooden floor boards with homey rugs. There were pictures as well, faded black and white, and a weird box that sat in the middle of the lounge like a centre piece. The furniture was all poised around it, looking rather curious. Tooru shrugs and follows Hajime up the stair case. 

They stop at the second door, after Hajime points out the bathroom of the house, and then flings his bedroom door open. It’s a small room, and there’s already a little make-shift bed set out by the side of the proper one. It’s quiant, and personal, with big posters of drawings of people Tooru doesn’t recognise, a small bedside lamp, and a small wardrobe. The bed sheets have big lizard creatures on them, and are green. Hajime stands in the middle of the room, cheeks slightly flushed as if he’s embarrassed. 

“You can sleep on the bed.”

“Huh?”

“I said you can sleep on the bed… if you want.” Tooru tilts his head. 

“But it’s your bed.”  
“I know, but I’m trying to be nice, dummy.” Hajime kicks at the small patch of carpet, looking anywhere but at Tooru. Tooru’s own shocked expression softens slightly. 

“You don’t have to be nice, unless you want to be. My Nanny’s not here, and I won’t tell if you’re mean.” Hajime’s head snaps up, and he’s scowling again.

“She’s my nan, not yours.” He snaps, and Tooru instinctively takes a step back, stumbling slightly. Then Hajime’s expression relaxes into shock again, and he bites down on his lip. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay…” Tooru sniffs, and pretends he’s not scared of Hajime. But Hajime is looking over at him, and guilt settles. 

“And, I want to be nice to you. Why would I not?” It’s Tooru’s turn to stare at the floor, stuffing his hands into his pockets and trying to be as small as possible. 

“Don’t know…” he mumbles, “never had a friend before…” 

“Oh.” Hajime says.

“Yeah.”  Silence pulls across them for a few minutes, Tooru unsure if he should unpack or say anything else. Finally, Hajime sighs and throws his wardrobe open. 

“There’s not much room, but I can chuck some stuff out for your fancy robes and stuff.” Tooru eyes the hunged up t-shirts carefully, all bright colours and some baring holes. He also studies Hajime, drinking in the young boys skin tarnished with burises and scuffs, his messy hair and plaid top with a dirty hand print on it. He’s so different from him. 

“Are you magic?” Tooru asks. Hajime freezes digging through his wardrobe, shoving shirts on it’s floor to make room for Tooru’s. He turns back to look at Tooru, and shrugs.

“Dunno.” he replies, and stops to think. “My nan isn’t, so probably not.”

“Are your parents?” Hajime stills again.

“…They weren’t, no.” Tooru plops on the bed. 

“Are they now magic, then?”

“No, they’re dead.” Tooru’s stills himself this time, gripping at Hajime’s bed sheets. 

“Oh.” Tooru whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Well it’s not your fault, so you shouldn’t be. I never really knew them, and my uncle… he fed me for a while, gave me a roof and stuff.” Tooru nods slowly. 

“So you live with your uncle?” 

“Used too, but I live with nan now.” Hajime emerges from the wardrobe, satisfied with his work. “I prefer it here.” Tooru eyes the room, it’s light blue walls, it’s pretty windowsill with ivy lining the panel. He’s only lived here for fifteen minutes and he already prefers it here, too.

***

“Ow, Iwa, not so fast!” Tooru complains, tripping over another large branch as he scrambles after Hajime. He hears the faint laugh of his friend ahead, who is jumping over fallen trees and weeving through prickly branches without much difficulty. 

“If you don’t hurry, it’ll get away, dummy.” Hajime’s nose is practically pressed to the ground as he scurries after the large, and terrifying, beetle Tooru had screamed at about ten minutes ago. They dive deeper into the forest, Tooru close on Hajime’s heels, with patches of sunlight catching the flicks of Hajime’s hair. Their feet meet with water as they splash through a small, trickling stream, Suddenly Hajime skids to a stop and slams his hands down on the ground, in a cupping motion, as Tooru finally slumps beside him. 

“Tooru, get the jar out of my bag.” With a small whine, Tooru relcutantly flips the bag open and digs around, past a few jam sandwiches and hand drawn maps, to retrieve a jar. He hands it out to Hajime who quickly scoops up the captured beetles into the glass. Hajime eyes it proudly, before presenting it to Tooru who grimances at the ugly creature. Hajime pulls Tooru down into a crouching position, turning over the jar and throwing the rucksack in front of them. He digs through it crossed legged, not bothering about the dirt, and fishes out a hand drawn map and pen. He happly marks down the spot near the small stream with an x and ‘beetle. size: really big’. Tooru frowns. 

“It’s not that big.” he huffs. 

“It’s pretty big.”

“Not as big as the one we caught by the barn.” Hajime considers Tooru for a moment, and then crosses out the pen and writes “sort of big” instead. Hajime shows it to Tooru with an eye roll, who responds with a curt nod. The map is scrunched back in the bag, and Hajime hands Tooru a sandwich.

The two sit by the small stream in comfortable silence, Tooru watching the hypnotic sway of traces of sunlight, as the beams swing and change shape with the rustle of the trees. The two munch on sandwiches happily, Tooru humming contently as he enjoys the feeling of fresh air against his skin, and press of Hajime’s bare arm against his. 

“Tooru, you’re doing it again.” Tooru suddenly snaps into focus and sits up straight, terrified that Iwaizumi is referring to some ‘personal space boundaries thing’. However Iwaizumi isn’t even looking at Tooru, but is watching as the small row of daises that lines the stream begin to grow, dancing upwards in some sort of time lapse towards them. Tooru blushes sheepishly and the flowers stop growing with a halt. 

“Sorry.” He apologies. Tooru’s never too sure how he’s doing it, but this sort of thing sometimes happens. His tutor had explained to him that it does happen with younger wizards and witches, that sometimes they can’t control their powers and sometimes things just happen, especially as they ‘come of age.’

 Tooru is ten now, soon to turn eleven, and it’s his fourth summer spent with the Iwaizumi’s. It hadn’t taken long for the small farm, enlaced with green woodland along its edges and a it’s striping long field full of wild flowers, too feel like home. Suddenly the cold castle where he’d grown up felt like some sort of prison, the farm the outside world— a promise of what life could be like. He sometimes felt guilty for feeling like that, because his parents weren’t particluarly cruel, just expecting, always wanting from him and yet never there. 

But here, with his Nanny and Hajime, he had a home. He had a friend. A best friend (as Hajime had promised, through a heavy blush and a stubbonly stuck out pinky finger) and a family. 

He blinks at the small cluster of daisies and violets, now suddenly as tall as his torso. He glances over at Hajime fearfully, but the second boy only stares at the half grown flowers in awe— in adoration. Guilt lines Tooru’s stomach as he turns his gaze back down to his half eaten sandwich. 

It had been decided between the two of them that it was most likely that Hajime wasn’t magic. He’d never shown any sign of being magic, never accidently done something impromptu that would suggest he had power running through his veins. For the most part, he didn’t seem bothered, until suddenly Tooru had accidently made the book he was reading float in mid air after examining the creases in Hajime’s face too long, or when Tooru made the that weird picture box thing change erratically because he’d laughed too hard at the silly ‘Godzilla’ movie Hajime had insisted on showing him (it really was that bad.). Then suddenly Iwaizumi would stop what he was doing and stare, lips slightly parted and eyes pooling with adoration. Not so much longing, but as if he’d been hypnotised, entranced by the idea that magic surrounded him. 

It didn’t take long for Tooru to realise, that as his Nanny represented what magic was too him, Tooru represented what magic was to Hajime. And to Hajime, magic was a stupid snotty nosed, crying kid— entranced with the ability to control the beauty of nature, and manipulate the impossible at the most random points.

For both, magic was a promise that life could be better than what it is. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Hajime whispers back, as his hand reaches out to gently touch the suddenly tall, twining stalk. “it’s awesome.” 

The sudden sound of thunder cuts through their thoughts, and both of their heads shoot up to look at the sky. Darkness grew past the tree tops, a warning to the downpour to come. Hajime gives Tooru one of his famous scowls. 

“Did you do this too?” He snaps, grumply pointing up at the sudden formation of thunderous clouds. Tooru gapes, offended. 

“No! I don’t know how to control the weather!”

“Don’t lie to me, trashykawa.”

“It’s true! And I’m telling my Nanny you called me that when you’re not supposed too!” The two glare each other, Tooru with his tongue stuck out and Hajime with a fistful of Tooru’s yellow t-shirt. Suddenly there’s another large clap of thunder and a sudden struck of light across the sky, large and elluminating the grey clouds. The pair freezed, slightly pretrafied, until the downpour collapsed upon them.

Without even thinking, Hajime chucks his crust into the lake, along with Tooru’s half eaten sandwhich which earns him a small ‘hey!’ of protest. Hajime shoves his backpack on, chucks the beetle jar inside, grabs Tooru’s hands, intwerwinding their fingers, and makes a run or it. Tooru stumbles behind, caught in Hajime’s grip and feebly trying to shield himself form the hard hitting rain with his free hand. 

They run together, stumbling through the now soaking ground and desperatly trying not to get caught in overgrown brambles. Tooru keeps up with Iwaizumi’s pace until he trips and falls over a large brunch, jagging into his knee. He wails and falls to the ground, clutching at his knee as liquid pools from it. The rain somehow becomes heavier around Tooru with the mud wet and slippery beneath his grazed hands, shiverring from the intense cold that soaks into his clothes. Hajime kneels down beside him, prying Tooru’s fingers away too examine the cut. But the rain is thick and heavy, blocking both of the boys visions, and suddenly Tooru feels warm fingers around his wrist. He can hardly register what’s going on until his arm is wrapped around Hajime’s shoulders, and Hajime wraps his arm around his waste, supporting him.

Hajime heaves the two on foward, slowly as Tooru tries not to whimper, until the break of trees finally opens and the farm house is in sight. Tooru’s Nanny stands at the foot of the farmhouse gate, wrapped into a silver raincoat yelling over the loud carouse of rain, thunder and the strikes of lightening hitting the sky. She runs out too meet them, ushering them as quickly as she can in doors. 

There’s a bandage for Tooru, the cut not so deep it needs a hospital, but deep enough for a tightly bound bandage and alcohol wipes. He gnaws at the bottom of his lip, trying not to whimper, still clutching Iwaizumi’s hand. However, everything is done by pale candle light and the strike of lightening, as his Nanny places down a lantern on the kitchen table and jams a torch under her arm. 

“The powers gone”, she sighs, opening the small medical box.  “I’m not sure when it’s coming back on either, my darlings.” 

“Oh.” Is all Tooru manages, gripping hold of Hajime’s hand tighter. Hajime doesn’t say anything, only increases his own grip too.

Tooru doesn’t really let go of Hajime’s hand, not until he’s ushered into the bathroom for a nice warm bath, washing away the dirt and letting heat sink into his bones. At first Hajime had stood awkwardly in the door way, doing that thing where he refuses too look at Tooru. 

“I could stay…” Tooru’s head snaps round. 

“What? Iwa, I’d be naked.”

“I know that, dumbass! But I wouldn’t look, obviously. Just in case you slipped and fell in the dark….or you were scared.” Tooru considered it a moment, guiltily knowing he’d feel better with Hajime in the room. But he swallows and shakes his head. 

“N-no. It’s ok…” He says, half wondering if it was okay at all. 

“I know you don’t like the dark…” It wasn’t a lie. Tooru hated the dark, it reminded him of lonsome rooms, and the type of emptiness that crawls under your skin. It reminded him of the dead silence of the small cupboard, the one that he was sometimes put in for ‘quiet times’. He shuddered, and he knew Hajime had noticed. There’s a small pause as Hajime fidgets with his jumper sleeve, fresh and warm and cosy from the dryer. 

“I could also wait outside.” Tooru looks up at Hajime slowly, meeting eyes for a split second. He nods, and hears the click of the door. And when he emerges ten minutes later with his pyjamas on, hair damp and holding a lamp, Hajime is waiting right outside. 

The rain didn’t stop, only grew harder and louder against the slated roof house. Wind shook through the chimney in a whisper of ghostly wails, whole house groaning as thunder continued to shake the sky above. Lightening became more frequent, the only light left in Hajime’s room as the small bedside candle continued to burn down to it’s wick. Tooru had no idea what the time was, the small candle only giving off enough light to aluminate Hajime’s sleeping face in the camp bed below, but he knew it was late. 

Late enough for the small candle, placed by his loving Nanny on the desk just before she too pottered to bed, to be almost burnt through. Tooru clutched at his sheets as his small eyes follows the candles decline, until it was close to base. Another crack of lightening strikes across the sky, much louder and much more violet than the ones before. Tooru yelps in shock, feet scrambling and kicking at his douvet and tucking his arms protectively around his knees. He quickly covers his whimpering mouth with his hand; desperatly trying to conceal the desperate sound. He scrunches his eyes shut and rocks, shuddering at the second streak slashes across the sky. 

Behind his eyes, a tint of red seems to flicker. He hears the heavy sound of covers being shifted, and the harsh whisper of “Tooru, Tooru!”. He doesn’t move, not till the light hidden form his vision grows bright enough to coax his eyes open, and two heavy hands to land firmly on his shoulders. When he does open, Hajime sits right in his line of vision, half of his face shadowed and the other tinted amber with light. Tooru tries to steady his breath and speak, but is only brought further into Hajime. 

Hajime tries to awkwardly comfort Tooru, small but sturdy arms wrapped around the taller boy in an attempt of a hug, awkward as Hajime still sat poised on his knees on the lower bed. He decides to climb up with Tooru, rustle of the sheets acompanying the small crackling sound. Tooru breathes in Hajime’s heavy sent, the smell of dull lavender and muddy grass filling his nostrils and luring him out of the panicking haze. There’s another drum of thunder, but this time a lot less violent. The two stay like that for a few minutes, Hajime’s left hand dragging small pattens against Tooru’s pajyama top and Tooru breathing heavily against Hajime’s chest. They don’t pull back, not until the mystical orange light stops being comforting and starts to become questionable. Tooru coils back first, a little shocked, and scans the room until his eyes fall too the desk.  Behind Hajime, floating in mid-air, is a small bundle of paper. It hovers just above the desk next to Tooru’s bed, in front of Hajime’s, flickering soft flames but never burning to it’s core. It’s beautiful to look at, the crumbled paper (once a crude drawing of Tooru) now a small bundle of light, allowing the shadows of the boys to sit faint against the blue wall, faces lit with soft frekles of red. He blinks at it, and then down at his own hands, turning them over. 

Tooru comes to a conclusion. 

“I didn’t do that.” He whispers, and looks over at Hajime. Hajime, however, isn’t looking at him, but also at the ball of flames. It’s a different to the way he normally watches magic, features now twisted with confusion and maybe even fear, but certainly not awe. It takes Tooru a second to catch on, but when he does a small gasp escapes his lips and his scrambling to sit up properly. 

“That must mean— Iwa, you must be doing this!” Tooru grasps at Hajime’s hand excitedly without even thinking it, but Hajime doesnt budge. Instead, he reaches out a shaky hand and nervously rests a finger against the lapping flames. Tooru almost yelps and jerks him back, until Hajime rests his whole palm agains the small ball, retracting it back calmly. 

“It’s not even hot.” He murmurs, Hajime’s eyes now fixtated on his own palm. Tooru slumps slightly, and allows his friend to slowly come to terms. 

“You did this, Iwa.” Tooru whispers again. Hajime blinks, finally turning to look at Tooru. He shakes his head. 

“I can’t have.” He mutters back, “I’m not magic, dumbass.” But even he doesn’t sound convinced. 

“I didn’t do it.” 

“Doesn’t mean I did.”

“But it does! And you know you did it, too.” Hajime blinks, and doesn’t deny. After a nother beat of silence his vision draws away harshly, as if he’s been burnt. 

“Whatever,” he grumbles, “probably just some weird physic energy that follows you round.” Hajime shrugs, as if it’s not big deal and he really can pin this on Tooru, and then turns to leave. Tooru clings to Hajime’s wrist, eyes wide. 

“Can you just stay?” He whispers, “we can talk about who did what in the morning— just stay with me here?” Hajime rolls his eyes and grumbles a response, but doesn’t move. Instead he reluctantly throws Tooru’s douvet over himself, curling up against the wall with his back to Tooru. 

Tooru smiles greatfully at his back and snuggles down next to him, until Hajime finally sighs and rolls onto his back. Hajime’s spiky hair tickles where Tooru has his arm outstretched, a small content smile flickers on his lips. 

“Don’t look at it no more or it won’t burn out.” Hajime mumbles into the sheets, “probably appeared in the first place because of your dumb girly screaming. So it’s probably wired to how you’re feeling or something.” Tooru doesn’t respond and only narrows his eyes. He’s still smiling fondly, taking the sublte hint as he closes his eyes and snuggles into the blankets. 

***

A week later, Hajime’s acceptance letter to Hogwarts School Of Witch Craft and Wizardy comes in the muggle post. 

He eyes the envelop with a straight expression, Tooru’s Nanny squealing as she stands behind the kitchen chair squeezing Hajime’s shoulder. Tooru sits across the table, head placed neatly in his hands with a wide, beaming smile. Hajime scowls at him, then at the letter. Tooru had been the one to scoop up the post from the door mat, and had excitedly ran down to where Hajime was currently feeding the chickens, dragged him by the arm back into the farm house and forecedly plunked him in the kitchen chair. Once he was sure he had everyone’s attention, Tooru had happily presented his Nanny with the letter, whose smile grew larger than Tooru ever knew was physically possible. 

Hajime now flickered his scowl again between the grinning Tooru and the lettter, folding the edges nervously between his thumb. 

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” Tooru coos, head cocked. Hajime sticks his tongue out and snaps the letter into his lap. 

“Of course, dummy, I’m just—just give me a second.” He traces the curly writing with his fingers, his Nan smiling fondly. 

After a few more ticks of the clock, Hajime finally tears the seal open carefully, delicately pulling the thick piece of parchment out of the envelop, as if revealing some sort of ancient creed. It’s long, and he hums lowly with a dumfound expression. 

“It’s a magic school.” Hajime whispers, and finally his Nan lets out her squeals of excitment and Tooru rushes to clasp at Hajime from across the table. Hajime feebly swats away at Tooru, who laughs with giddy happiness. 

“Iwa is magic!” He sings, now out of his chair and flinging arms around Hajime’s neck. Hajime doesn’t try and shrug him off, only stays still with his mouth open. He finally cracks a grin, glowing with a sort of releived happiness Tooru isn’t sure he can place. Hajime laughs with the pair for a minute, still grinning madly and waving the letter around proudly. 

Finally he directs his smile at Tooru, a toothy grin just for him. 

“Now we can stay together!” Hajime declares, giving the letter an extra jiggle just in case Tooru hadn’t seen. Tooru nods happily until somehting in his stomach drops, and realisation washes over him. 

 

A week before Tooru’s birthday, his acceptance letter comes via owl— which is the custom for wizard families (even though he isn’t at home, the letter is still neatly addressed to Hazel Farm.) 

And as he expected, he had not one letter— but two. 

Durmstrang Institute was renowned for it’s pristine reputation, it’s exceptional teaching and it’s abundance of success stories. The students of Durmstrang were believed to the best of the best, producing wizards and witches from across Europe who exceed the average line and go beyond what is necessary, to produce students who are head strong, collective and most importantly brash when needed. For pureblood families outside of Bulgaria, it was a beacon of hope for both their kind and what they stood for, a representation of traditional magic with traditional outcomes.   
And Tooru wished he didn’t fit the criteria. 

Of course, the 21st Century version of Durmstrang was only a shell of what it was, much more diverse and accepting than its former medieval outlook. But still it was, none the less, almost military in style and desirable— and Tooru knew from the moment it had been made clear by his tutor and his parents that he could not only go to Hogwarts, but another school, that he’d gotten a Magic Tutor for a reason. 

So he sits alone on his bed, greatful that both owls sent from the various schools had the curtiousy to deliver the letters straight to the bedroom window, and not through the letter box. He needed time to think, without the influence of parents or the Iwaizumi’s, about what to do.

Although it was hard not to be influenced by the Iwaizumi’s when their presense cuckooned him. The world that surrounded him was there’s, down too Hajime’s light blue walls too the growing oaks outside the window. The sound around him was theirs, too, the hum of an elctronic heater coming from the boiler room not far from the bedroom, the echo of Hajime’s voice and his Nanny’s as they bicker over farmwork chores, the grainy radio gurgling 50’s music in the kitchen. Nothing here was Tooru, instead Tooru had become what was here. And in all honesty, Tooru never wanted the fear of losing himself— or what he wanted himself to be— again. He’d experienced it at 6, and now nearly eleven he didn’t need to feel the same emptiness inside of him. 

He ripped open the Durmstrang letter, with a beating heart, so the school would know he’d at least looked at it. He read the firm red print, glossy against the parchment, and felt a sudden pang of guilt. Years of work, of subitituting childhood play and snow for magic practice, throbbed in his head. The idea of an even bigger divide between his parents made him shy away, and ease his grip on the letter. After all, he shouldn’t be so hasty. 

He’s torn, and suddenly the bedroom door is flung open. Hajime stands in it, already with a neat slash of mud against his right cheek and a cocked eyebrow. He has a ball poised between his hands. Tooru squaks and shoves the letters behind his back clumsily. 

“What?” Hajime asks, but more accuses. Tooru coughs nervously and fans out his hands, trying to come across playfully. 

“What do you mean what, Iwa?” he squeaks, and Hajime’s expression hardens. 

“What are you hiding, Shittykawa?” Hajime crains his neck, and Tooru quickly stuffs the Durmstrang acceptance letter in his left jean pocket. He feels it crease, and shrugs. 

“Nothing, Iwa. Don’t be vulgar! I’m just coming, I got a letter from someone and I wanted to read it in private.” Hajime stares back. 

“Who would write you a letter?”

“My friends.” Tooru scoffs. 

“What friends? I’m your only friend.” Hajime relaxes against the door frame and Tooru splutters. 

“That is not true, Iwa!”

“So what if it is? You’re my only true friend.” Hajime scuffs his shoe and Tooru grins wide. 

“Oh, Hajime, am I your one and only?” Hajime scowls and makes some sort of low growling noise. He only settles when Tooru gives one of his wide grins, returning it with an eye roll.

“Come on, I wanna go play.” He begins to shuffle out of the room, and as soon as he’s gone, Tooru pulls out the Durmstrang letter. He hears Hajime grumply call his name again, and almost on instinct he tears the letter in his hands once down the middle, then once again, and quickly stuffs the remains into his pillow case. He grabs the Hogwarts letter and skids out of the room after Hajime, falling by his side as the two cram together down the stair case. 

Tooru skips ahead and turns back, waving the letter. 

“By the way, he grins, “look what came in the post.” 

Hajime blinks at it, and then his face lights up as well. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm akaakeji on tumblr (akaakeji.tumblr.com) and on twitter if you wanna hmu


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